


Alligators Don't Forget

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, There's some fluff okay?, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 03:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11282424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: Teenage kicks and adult angst.





	Alligators Don't Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SleepyEmily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyEmily/gifts).



> A fluffy piece of semi-smut that came about after reading someone else's conversation on Tumblr.....

_ 2007 _

 

The second Emily stepped outside, the Louisiana sun hit her like a brick to the face. Her glasses seemed to magnify the glare more than was scientifically possible, and the heat settled over her like a heavy blanket.

Holy shit. She didn't ever think she'd get used to this. Coming from the damp and drizzle of the East of England to here wasn't just a culture shock, it was a thermal shock too. Not to mention what the humidity did to her fucking hair……

She'd lived in Dulvey for two months now and hadn't made a single friend. The people there weren't actively unfriendly, but they didn't seem to know what to make of her with her accent and her penchant for wearing odd socks, and she'd been carefully avoided the entire time.

Emily went down the school steps, feeling the heat from the concrete baking up through the soles of her Vans. She was thinking of nothing but getting home to the air conditioned coolness and sitting in a dim room to draw. She had an idea for picture she wanted to do, and it had been burning in her brain all afternoon.

There was a crowd gathered at the bottom of the steps, huddled in a rough circle, but in her artistic daydream she didn't register them, and before she had time to fully realise what she'd done, she'd plunged into the midst of the mass.

 

Emily recognised both boys. Being ignored had made her more observant, and she'd learned names and characters as a coping mechanism.

The huge guy on the left was Brent Chambers, a walking cliché - complete Jock, tall, muscular, tanned and blond. Captain of the football team, dating some scuzzy cheerleader. She stood off to one side, blowing bubbles with her gum and watching the events unfold with malicious interest.

The boy on the right was Lucas Baker, and he was the complete polar opposite of Brent. From what Emily could gather, he lived on the edge of the bayou - she'd heard people call him Swamp Boy - and he was tall and skinny with an unfortunate beak of a nose and an air of permanent discontent.

They were facing off, an unlikely match, and Emily shuddered at the thought of what the bigger boy would do to poor Lucas.

The two of them didn't notice her sudden appearance, and Emily tried to back out of the arena, but the wall of people had closed behind her and she was trapped.

“You better fuckin’ apologise to my girl, Baker. I'm tellin’ ya now!”

Lucas sneered.

“I ain't fuckin’ apologisin’ for somethin’ I ain't done!” he retorted.

“You were fuckin’ touchin’ her, you pervert!” said Brent, outraged, and a murmur of excitement rippled around the crowd.

“I  _ bumped into her _ !” corrected Lucas, helpless frustration written plain on his face. “She should look where she's fuckin’ walkin’!”

Brent snorted.

“Bumped into her and touched her ass,” he said.

Lucas shrugged.

“Her ass was in the way. I can't help that. It's fuckin’ big enough.”

Brent’s girlfriend - Brandi, was that her name? - gasped, her mouth hanging open, her wad of gum a pink lump on her tongue that looked like a tumour.

Brent shook a thick finger in the skinny boy's face, the tip nearly brushing the end of that big nose, and Emily saw a snarl start to twist Lucas’s mouth at the imposition. For a second he looked like he was about to bite the digit right off.

“Nobody touches my girl's ass an’ gets away with it!”

“You sure about that?” asked Lucas. “I mean, from what I heard, she's pretty much fucked the entire football team……”

_ “Oooh!” _

The combined syllable swelled from the assembled crowd. They were hungry for blood, and now it was sure to be shed.

Emily was jostled from behind as people attempted to get closer, and though she dug in her heels she was shoved forward.

Brent had raised his fist, ready to land the first punch, but Lucas hadn't moved, standing his ground, defiant. He lifted his chin as if daring the bigger boy to go ahead, and in that instant Emily saw his profile outlined against the burning orb of the sun - proud, unafraid, and about to be destroyed.

Holy shit, she realised - he was beautiful…..

Without even considering the hazard to her own person, and before she'd even realised what she was doing, Emily leapt between them.

Ragged chatter broke out in the onlookers. Surprise, laughter, amazement. Emily looked up at the bruiser towering over her, his fist still raised but slowly drooping in bewilderment.

“What the fuck…..?” he began, and trailed off.

“Leave him alone, you wanker!” yelled Emily, adrenaline flooding her system and speaking the words for her.

Brent frowned, and looked over at one of his wingmen, a smaller jock who just shrugged. The football captain adjusted his expression.

“Now listen up, girlie - “ he started, but Emily was on a high now and tore on ahead.

“No,  _ you _ listen up, you massive twat! Just fuck off, right!”

She put two hands against his broad chest and attempted to push him away. It was like trying to move a wall.

For a moment, Brent looked like he might just shove her aside, but there were a lot people watching, and he evidently didn't want to be seen manhandling a girl.

“This don't concern you, whatever-the-hell-your-name-is, so just get the fuck outta the way. This is men's business.”

“My name is Emily, and you're not a man - you're a dickhead. And a fucking bully. So just piss off.”

She folded her arms across her chest and stood, glaring up at him.

Somewhere in the busy 60 seconds since she'd leapt to Swamp Boy’s rescue, the wave of adrenaline she'd been riding had reached the shore and washed up onto the beach in a tame little dribble, and now she was stranded and out of her depth. But she couldn't back down now.

Brent had faltered, the moment was lost, and people were already starting to drift away, the spectacle no longer holding their interest.

Trying to save face, the jock snorted.

“Fuck this shit. I ain't got time for this.”

He looked over the top of her head at Lucas, who still stood behind her.

“We'll settle this another time, Baker. When yer little bodyguard ain't around.”

Dropping an insulting wink, Brent turned away and strolled off, putting his arm around his girlfriend as they went. Possibly-Brandi shot Emily a confused glance over her shoulder.

The gathering dispersed, leaving Emily and Lucas standing alone. Lucas hadn't moved throughout the entire altercation, and now she turned to him, her face burning.

He was looking down at her with an expression of pure amazement, apparently lost for words, and Emily took the opportunity to examine his features close up.

He wasn't conventionally attractive by any means, but he had good bones in his narrow face and the bluest, most piercing eyes she'd ever seen. She wondered if she had a paint in her palette that would do the shade justice.

“Why d’ya do that?” he asked finally.

Emily had no good answer, so she improvised.

“Dunno. I was worried he was gonna break your face, and I wanted to draw it before it got smashed to shit.”

It was the truth, she suddenly realised, although she hadn't known it till this second.

“You wanna  _ draw  _ ma  _ face?” _

He sounded incredulous, but he was blushing, she realised - not like she did, with colour rising in her cheeks, but in his ears, the upper rims reddening as she watched.

She shrugged, somewhat reassured that he was apparently feeling as awkward as she was, and for a few seconds they both stood there, blushing in their own way.

“Well, whatever,” he said eventually, looking at the ground. “But I coulda taken him, ya know.”

“I know,” she lied. “But I didn't wanna risk it.”

She paused.

“So, can I, then?”

“Can ya what?”

“Draw you.”

Lucas shrugged, an angular, lopsided gesture that tried to convey the idea that he didn't give a shit whilst actually conveying how self-conscious he was.

“Guess I can't stop ya if ya wanna. Free country.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and for a second Emily felt a thrill shoot through her belly, an almost painful sensation that began somewhere under her ribs and ended up near her groin.

“I ain't sittin’ still so’s you can do can do it, though,” he cautioned. “Don't like bein’ stared at…..”

“That's ok,” she said. “I think you're in my head now, I can draw you from memory.”

She winced internally at her words.

_ Christ, Emily, do you think you could sound a bit  _ more _ weird…..? _

Lucas looked at her strangely but said nothing. He took a step away.

“I gotta go. See ya round, I guess.”

He slouched away, Emily watching him go.

Snapping out of her reverie, she began to hurry home. The picture she'd planned on drawing before was forgotten, but there was another she just had to put on paper.

 

Emily was exhausted. She'd been up most of the previous night working on her idea, and she hadn't gone to bed until it was finished. The completed work was in the folder she carried, practically burning a hole in it, and she intended to show Lucas if she could work up the nerve.

She needed to get him alone - laughable really, as he never seemed to be with anybody. But the school was a busy place, and it was difficult to find any solitude.

She spotted him at lunchtime, sat far away from everyone else, slumped on the ground under a tree, long legs stretched out in front of him. He appeared to be reading. 

_ Come on, Emily. It's now or never. If he really hates it you can always avoid him for the rest of your life….. _

Giving herself the dubious pep talk, Emily made her way over to where he sat. Tired as she'd been that morning, she'd made an effort to look good, attempting to tame her wild hair and wearing her favourite cut-offs, but as she walked towards him she could almost feel her hair rebelling, fighting itself out of its straightened lengths and into a wavy snarl.

He saw her coming long before she got there, and she had to endure the painful ordeal of being watched as she approached, feeling more self-conscious with every step. Her mind tortured her with images of her finally reaching him only to be told to fuck off.

He didn't, though. He merely regarded her curiously, one long slender finger marking his place in the battered Stephen King novel.

“Hey, Emily,” he said cautiously.

She managed a smile, and his mouth twitched in return. He obviously wasn't used to smiling at people.

“I did it,” she blurted.

He raised his eyebrows.

“The drawing, I mean. Of you.”

She fumbled in the folder, nervous fingers tweezing the paper from within. Now the time had come, she was embarrassed for him to see it.

He sat up straighter, watching her, and she took a deep breath before passing him the picture, painfully aware of her fingernails, bitten down to nothing, as she held it out for inspection.

Lucas put his book aside and accepted it from her, holding it by the edges with a certain amount of reverence. She watched his face as he scrutinised it, but his expression was unreadable.

_ He hates it! _ screamed her brain.  _ Abort! Abort! _

The drawing was done in coloured pencil, and depicted how she'd seen him in her moment of epiphany yesterday: His profile, set against the sun, his chin high, the light touching the tips of his ears and glowing around his head. She'd exaggerated the illumination, colouring it more brightly than it had really been, creating a kind of halo around him.

Emily’s heart beat hard in her chest as his gaze travelled over the paper, going from top to bottom then climbing back up again, but his focus on the drawing meant she could study him at her leisure.

There was the faintest peach-fuzz of stubble along the line of his jaw and above his upper lip, softening the hard angles, and the sight of it made her feel inexplicably weak. In a moment of pure insanity she envisaged herself running her hand along it to see how soft it was.

His forehead was high, his hairline set back - he would start balding prematurely, she predicted - but the buzzcut he had was starting to grow back in, and the hair on the back of his head looked almost as unruly as hers, sticking up at odd angles. It looked fluffy, though, and now there was another thing she wanted to touch.

Feeling odd towering over him, Emily crouched down next to him, watching his eyes scan back and forth. His bottom lip was jutted out slightly in concentration, and Emily felt her face grow hot as she wondered how he would taste. Like cigarettes, most likely - she'd seen him puffing away on more than one occasion.

There was a little wrinkle between his eyebrows, a small tuck in the flesh as he frowned, and she let her gaze wander from that to the prominent jut of his nose, lingering over the little bump on the bridge. She wondered it the bump had been caused by an old break.

She looked up to his eyes again, blissfully feeding her hunger, but to her horror they were looking right at her, the pale blue circles piercing her. He looked taken aback, though whether it was from his reaction to the picture or to her attention, she couldn't tell.

His lips parted, and she found herself biting on her own in response.

“This….uh….this is real good, Emily.”

He sounded awed, and that feeling she'd had yesterday returned, coursing through her belly, giving her a pleasant little twinge.

“‘Cept I don't really look that good in real life,” he said.

“You do to me,” she said without thinking, and cringed.

He looked startled for a minute, then suspicious, perhaps expecting derision. It was clear he wasn't accustomed to compliments. Emily fought hard to keep her own face open and frank, but she'd embarrassed herself with her sudden admission. He stared at her for an uncomfortably long time before his mouth finally turned up at the corners.

“You're a strange one, Emily. But that's ok. I don't mind strange. You wanna sit with me a spell?”

Unable to speak, she merely nodded, and sat gingerly alongside him, her back against the same broad trunk. She was careful not to touch him, not just out of fear of any imposition, but because she wasn't sure how her body would react if she did.

“Here,” he said, holding the picture out to her. “It's real good. I like it.”

She made no move to take it back. She had fully intended to take it home and pin it on the wall above her bed, but seeing his evident satisfaction in it she made a spur of the moment decision.

“You can keep it. If you want,” she offered.

He frowned.

“I can't keep it. Must o’ taken you hours!”

“No, really! You can. I can - “ she choked off the words.

_ I can draw another one _ , she'd been about to say, and she would, but she didn't want him to know that. The next one would be forward facing - a portrait. She wanted to try and capture the ice in his gaze, though whether she'd be able to do it justice she didn't know.

He was such an  _ interesting _ subject. Not pretty in any way, but different enough to stand out in this place where everyone tried to fit in and look the same. Not to mention the fact that she had developed a substantial crush on him in so short a time.

Slowly, he pulled the paper back toward him.

“Well, if yer sure…..” he said.

He looked at it again, the pleasure plain on his face, and just the knowledge that she'd produced something that made him happy in even a small part made Emily feel better than she had in a long time.

 

After that day, they had a kind of unspoken agreement to hang together. Both outcasts, they sought companionship in one another, sitting under their tree during lunch break, rarely talking, just sharing a comfortable silence.

Emily drew him again, and again, and again. She was usually pleased with her efforts right up until she saw him again, and then she noticed some glaring flaw in her art that didn't match him in real life, and the knowledge would send her straight up to her room when she got home, to try and get it right.

She'd immortalised him in charcoal, pencil, paint and ink, but each time she found herself unable to capture his peculiar duality.

When he was with her, he was relaxed and, if not necessarily welcoming as such, not rejecting of her. When he was around others, though, she noticed the contrast in him immediately: Sullen, bad tempered, unfriendly. At times he seemed to be brimming with unreleased tension, a dissatisfied spite that was barely held in check. The more she became accustomed to him, the more she began to realise that he could quite possibly have come out on top in a fight with Brent Chambers. There was a suppressed danger about him that she she rarely saw first-hand, but she recognised the diversity, and longed to draw it.

It took her awhile to summon the courage to ask him if he'd sit for her.

“Lucas….” she said one day as they lounged beneath their tree.

“What?”

He was often terse when he spoke, but Emily had learned not to take it personally. Lucas didn't waste words.

“I know you said you didn't like being stared at, but would you pose for me one day?”

“Pose?”

He looked alarmed at the prospect.

“Well, just sit. Let me draw you from life.”

He had a lit cigarette dangling loosely from his lips and squinted at her from behind the tendrils of smoke as they drifted past his eyes.

“What's this big fascination ya got with drawin’ me?” he asked, making an effort to sound scornful, but Emily could tell he was genuinely curious.

Emily could only shrug. Aside from coming right out and admitting that she had a hopeless crush on him, she wasn't sure what to say.

“You're…..different, I suppose. You don't want to fit in, and you don't even try. But you still try and maintain an image.”

“Do I?”

He looked amused at the thought.

“What kind o’ image?”

Emily looked at him hard, trying to find the right words. She didn't want to offend him, but she didn't intend to let him off lightly.

“You want to seem like you don't give a shit, but you do. You care what people think about you. And you'd rather they thought you were a stroppy, bad tempered asshole who hates everything.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, really?”

He was only just on the right side of being pissed off at her, and she chose her next words carefully.

“But you're not like that. Not with me, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, that's because you don't give me shit. I don't have to be like that with you.”

“But you're really nice!” wailed Emily, frustrated. “And nobody knows it!”

He narrowed his eyes at her, the intense look that always gave her the shivers.

“You don't know me that well,” he said. “Not really. You don't really know what I'm like - what I'm capable of. You don't know my dark side.”

He seemed to notice her discomfort.

“But you don't gotta worry about that,” he added, flicking the butt of his cigarette away. “I wouldn't do anythin’ bad to you, Emily.”

They sat in silence, Emily seeking for something to say, but it was Lucas who spoke first.

“If ya really wanna draw me, I'll sit for ya,” he said. “Long as it don't take a long time. When d’ya wanna do it?”

 

She went to his house the next day after school, armed with her sketchpad and pencils.

They took a shortcut through the swamp, and Emily wilted under the sticky heat even as Lucas strolled along with his hoodie zipped up to his chin. The path took them past some gators, and Emily stared at them with nervous fascination. England had no dangerous animals to encounter, apart from maybe a grumpy badger, and she couldn't get over the casual way Lucas wandered past them like they were just part of the scenery.

“Aren't you scared?” she asked, as one slid into the water like a sinister log.

Lucas shook his head.

“Naw. You gotta respect ‘em, but I ain't scared o’ ‘em. Matter of fact, they're one o’ my favourite animals. See, they're perfect. Been around for millions o’ years and ain't changed much, cuz they don't need to. They're opportunistic hunters - just wait for somethin’ to come near ‘em, an’ BAM! Sneaky.”

He grinned.

“Kinda remind me o’ myself…..” he sniggered.

Emily didn't want to ask him what he meant.

When Lucas’s house came into view, Emily stopped dead, taken aback. It was huge and imposing, looming out of the swamp.

“You live here?” she asked.

He nodded.

“It's amazing!”

Lucas snorted.

“Might look good from here, but it's goin’ to shit. Can't afford to do it up. Be surprised if it stays standin’ when the next storm comes.”

“You get a lot of storms here?”

“Oh, yeah. Fuckin’ hurricanes. Ya prolly heard o’ Katrina. Flooded New Orleans, must o’ killed maybe eighteen hundred people. But there was a really famous one in 1915, not far from here - wiped out a whole town. Was meant to have been cuz o’ a curse from some voodoo woman. Still get bodies washin’ up once in a while. Found a body once, but it weren't from the storm. Some townie got drunk and fell in, drifted along here. Went through a phase where I'd look for dead bodies every time I came out here.”

Morbid though this line of conversation was, it was the most Emily had heard him speak at one time, and she had to admit it was fascinating.

“Course, if ya wanna find a body, gotta get to it ‘fore the gators do. They don't leave remains or nothin’, neither. Digest the bones an’ all. If one was to eat you, might take up to a hundred days to break you all down.”

Emily shuddered, but Lucas grinned at her.

“Aw, I wouldn't let that happen. Not to you, anyways.”

They walked into the shaded gloom of the house. It was musty smelling, with high ceilings, and had an air of quiet solitude about it.

“My parents are gonna shit when they see you,” he warned. “I ain't never brought anyone back here before. So Imma apologise right now if they start gettin’ all gushy, ‘kay?”

“That's fine, I don't mind,” insisted Emily, wondering how her parents would react if she brought Lucas home.

“Any luck, we'll be able to avoid ‘em,” he muttered, and led her through a doorway into a huge, open area.

“Wow!”

Emily craned her neck upwards. There were two staircases, sweeping up to a walkway that overlooked them, and high, dirty windows filtering out the sunlight.

Lucas seemed unimpressed, and guided her towards a door that bore 3 raised, sculpted dog heads on the upper part.

There was a noise behind them, and Lucas turned, already curling his lip in annoyance.

“Lucas? Who’s this?”

It was Zoe, his younger sister. Emily had seen her around. She didn't have much contact with her brother at school, preferring to stay within her little circle of girlfriends. She was slightly more popular than him.

Lucas sighed.

“This here's Emily, from school,” he told her. “She does art. She's, uh, gonna draw me….”

“Really?”

Zoe regarded her, wide-eyed, clearly wondering why this girl had chosen her brother as a subject.

Emily smiled, attempting to look friendly and unthreatening.

“You're that English girl, ain't ya?” said Zoe.

“Yeah,” confirmed Emily.

“I like yer wristband,” said Zoe, referring to the black and red checkered band Emily always wore on her left wrist.

“Uh, thanks,” said Emily.

“I'm takin’ her out to the barn,” said Lucas. “Do me a favour - don't tell Momma or the old man we're out there. They’ll wanna welcome her to the fuckin’ family or somethin’.”

Zoe laughed.

“Okay, Lucas,” she agreed.

She cast a knowing smile in Emily’s direction.

“See ya later, Emily. Have fun out there!”

As they walked through the back door, she called out:

“Don't forget to use a condom!”

Lucas turned to make some retort, but she'd already retreated, laughing. Lucas was blushing, his face furious and ears red, but Zoe’s parting advice had made Emily shudder with restrained excitement at the thought.

 

The barn was dim and unused, rotting bales of hay stacked against the walls.

“You used to keep animals?”

“Yeah. Cows an’ horses. They got sick though. Had to have ‘em destroyed. Here, this way - I got a place I hang out, away from everyone.”

So even at home, he liked to be alone.

He'd cleaned up a wooden walled set of rooms and daubed the walls with white paint. There was a desk with a computer on it, and an old couch with a blanket thrown over.

Lucas went straight to a cd player, and turned it on, Nine Inch Nails’s  _ Year Zero  _ blaring from the speakers suspended high on the walls.

He ducked down by the desk where there was a battered old mini-fridge humming away, and produced two cans of coke.

“Here,” he said, tossing her one.

She caught it, fumble-handed, and popped it open. Soda frothed from the opening and ran down her arms. Lucas laughed.

“Sorry ‘bout that….”

Emily looked around, licking the sticky liquid from her skin.

“Quite a setup you've here,” she remarked, trying to divert attention from the mess she'd made.

“Yeah, my folks lemme do it up with stuff I found. Most o’ the things here were trash, till I fixed ‘em - computer, fridge, speakers….everythin’. Nice ta have somewhere to escape to.”

Lucas emptied half the can of coke in one go, guzzling it down with ravenous gulps. Emily had figured him for a sugar-junkie, and by the look of bliss on his face as the cold soda hit his system, she'd been right.

“So where'd ya want me?” he asked, the innuendo in the statement not lost on her.

“The couch should be fine,” she said, unshouldering her backpack and dragging his wheeled computer chair out to sit on.

He seated himself, suddenly twitchy and nervous.

“You ever done any o’ that, whatchya call, uh,  _ life drawin’ _ ? Y’know, with the naked people?”

Emily flushed.

“A couple of times.”

“Really? What was that like?” he asked, fascinated. “Was it weird? Did ya get all, ya know, hot….?”

She laughed.

“Hardly. One of the models was some old guy. Beer gut and wrinkles. It was weird, though - like afterwards, thanking him for his time when 5 minutes before you were sketching his bollocks.”

“Bollocks?”

“Balls,” said Emily, cursing herself for such an embarrassing reference, fumbling in her bag and fishing out her pencils to avoid his gaze.

Lucas looked thoughtful.

“Well, I ain't doin’ that,” he decided.

“Oh, no! I didn't expect you to!” she assured him hastily.

“Ma shirt’s as far as I'll go,” he told her.

Emily held her pencil so tightly she thought she'd snap it in half, and forced a lopsided smile.

“That’ll be fine,” she squeaked.

She watched him as he set his can down and unzipped his hoodie, eyes downcast as though he were shy.

As he slipped it from his shoulders, she smoothed out her paper with a shaking hand, trying to stay professional. He tossed his hoodie over the arm of the couch, and quickly stripped his t-shirt over his head.

Emily stifled a hungry groan as his upper body came into view. He was perfect. Skinny, yes, but with wiry muscle strung under the skin. His hairless chest was milky and smooth, the slats of his ribs stacked visibly below, and the sharp corners of his hip bones stuck up past the waistband of his jeans, forming a V that slanted down towards his groin. There was a faint dusting of hair climbing to his navel - his “happy trail”.

With a sudden, wry grin, he stretched himself out on the couch, one hand behind his head.

“Draw me like one o’ yer French girls,” he drawled, and Emily exploded into laughter.

Sniggering, he adjusted himself more comfortably. Emily was grateful for the brief introduction of humour, lightening the atmosphere, but even as she put her pencil to the paper the hotness began to creep back, climbing upwards from her belly and flushing her chest.

She began to sketch in his outline, marvelling inwardly at the long, almost elegant neck and the angles of his collarbones. The tip of her tongue protruded from her lips in concentration as her pencil traced the flat expanse of his abdomen. It was extraordinarily intimate and sensual, transferring his body onto paper, and she wondered if he felt it too - if he felt exposed under the pressure of her gaze, laid out for her perusal.

He appeared to relax as she drew, his head drooping against the pillowed arm of the couch, and he watched her work with lazy interest.

“How much am I ‘llowed ta move?” he asked, his jaw barely shifting.

“Not much more than that,” she told him.

“Uh-huh. Looks like you're in charge, fer now…..” he said, raising goosebumps on her skin.

His eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief, the suggestion of a smile touching his lips. She shaded in the fuzz on his chin, adding minute strokes to flesh out the dainty line of stubble beneath his bottom lip. She wondered if she'd be able to feel that hair if he kissed her.

Time stretched, unnoted. The Nine Inch Nails album finished, and she could hear her own breathing, loud in the silence. He watched the end of her pencil move as if hypnotised.

Emily began to add detail to the lower half of his body, her mouth dry as she played her pencil over his crotch. If she concentrated - and she  _ was  _ concentrating - she could see the faint outline of his cock through the thick denim and she struggled not to portray it too obviously. It curved in a thick ridge under the zip, sloping toward his right thigh, and as she drew it in, she saw it stiffen….

Emily gulped. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing, but it seemed deeper than before. He was staring at her openly now, his lips parted, the lump of his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Emily worked feverishly, unable to deny that the charged atmosphere was getting to her, and she shifted uneasily on her chair, painfully aware of the sticky dampness in her jeans.

“Ya nearly done?” he asked suddenly, watching her from under heavy eyelids.

“Almost,” she told him between clenched teeth.

“Awful hot in here, ain't it?” he remarked.

She nodded in agreement, not trusting herself to speak.

An unknown time later, she laid down her pencil, flexing her cramped hand.

“Okay, I've finished,” she told him.

The satisfaction at completion was tinged with regret. He would put his shirt back on, and the magical moment would be over.

He sat up and stretched.

“Can I see it?” he asked.

“Of course.”

She lifted the sketch pad, intending to turn it and show him, but he was up off the couch before she could, standing behind her, peering over her shoulder.

He gave a faint whistle.

“That's real good!” he said, his praise genuine. “I really look like that?”

The bare skin of his chest was less than an inch from her shoulder, and she was painfully aware of his proximity.

“To me you do,” she told him.

He exuded a musky scent, not unpleasant, mingled with the echo of cigarette smoke.

“Damn, I'm beautiful!”

She could hear the laughter in his voice, but it made her sad that he'd think the idea of his beauty was laughable.

“Yes. You are,” she said.

There. It was out. Her fingers tightened on the edges of the sketch pad, her bitten nails going white. She heard a sharp intake of breath from him, but otherwise no response.

Emily sat motionless, squeezing her eyes shut. She'd really fucking done it now. She'd never be able to look him in the eye again.

She gasped as he laid his hand on her shoulder, palm barely grazing her skin. Her hair tickled her face as his other hand pulled it gently to one side, and slowly, giving her chance to protest, he placed his lips on the side of her neck.

Emily heard the involuntary whimper that escaped her throat, but the sound seemed to encourage him, and he moved upwards, kissing her under her ear.

Her head rolled to the side, wantonly giving permission for him to continue, and he did, inching his way along the throbbing vein on the side of her neck until his face was buried in her hair.

His breath was scalding and heavy against her, but each kiss made her shiver, raising the hairs on her arms.

“Shit, Emily,” he whispered. “Got me all excited, lyin’ there with you drawin’ me…..”

“I saw,” she said, admitting to her attention to the outline of his cock.

“Was kinda hopin’ ya wouldn't,” he admitted.

“It was nice…..” she murmured, in a daze.

She felt him grab the back of the chair and swivel it around on it base so she was facing him.

As if in a dream, Emily gazed up at the bright blue eyes, searching her face. She tilted her head back, and he leaned down, kissing her mouth.

She dropped the sketch pad between them, her hands going to his waist, the silky feel of his skin delicious. He curled his fingers around the back of her neck, beneath her hair, and she opened her mouth under his, letting his tongue slip in, feeling his teeth against her bottom lip.

She didn't have much experience at kissing, but apparently neither did he, and they experimented with hesitant hunger, swapping their breath back and forth, sparring lazily with their tongues.

He grabbed her upper arms, urging her to her feet, and she obliged, reaching up to encircle his neck, her knees trembling.

Lucas used his own arms to bring her closer, pressing them against her back, the entire length of his body moulded to hers. She could feel his cock, confined in his jeans, straining against her thigh, and she instinctively ground up against it, feeling rather than hearing his groan as it vibrated through his chest.

He pulled his lips away.

“You wanna go on the couch?” he asked, and she nodded vigorously.

Yes, yes, yes!

They hurried over, Lucas holding her hand, and Emily flung herself onto the overstuffed cushions, lying down on her back. She had no idea if this was what he'd intended, but she didn't care. She wanted to feel his weight pressing down on her, sinking her into the cushions.

He descended onto her, awkward and bony and heavier than she'd expected, one knee in between hers. She closed her thighs around it, bringing it flush to her crotch. There were two layers of denim between them, but she still moaned at the sensation. He seemed to wilt over her, sagging onto her chest, crushing her.

“Aw, shit….. ya got me real horny, I'm sorry…..”

“Don't be,” she insisted, excitement coursing through her as his chest sealed against her own.

He kissed her again, deeper than before, and she reached up in a delirium to touch the hair on the back of his head.  It was exactly as soft as she'd imagined, and she raked her fingertips through it.

His cock was a solid bar digging into her hip, and she thought about it inside her, the rush of excitement at the notion making her feel faint.

They could do it, she thought. She had gone on the pill for her painful periods years ago. There was nothing to stop her. The knowledge was a harsh spur to her teenage lust.

He lifted his face. 

“Can I - ?” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Do whatever you want!”

It came out in a rush that should have shamed her, but his reaction was worth the risk. He groaned again, burying his face in the side of her neck, his hand sliding beneath the hem of her t-shirt and closing over her breast.

“Aw, fuck, I wanted to do this fer so long,” he confessed. “Right from the moment you showed me that drawin’ o’ yours….. Seein’ how nice ya made me look…….An’ yer face when ya showed me, all nervous like…..”

His desire had come a day later than hers, but no matter. She had him now, on top of her, where she wanted him.

His hand squeezed her, sending a jolt through her body. He moved down, his face nestling between her breasts, his breath warm, and he turned his head to kiss her through the thin cotton of her t-shirt.

She wanted to take it off, feel his bare skin against hers, feel the rasp of his fluffy stubble on her breasts, but she was scared he'd think she was a slut.

Under her fabric of her top, his fingers teased her bra aside, his thumb touching the hard bud of her nipple. She clutched at his shoulder, lifting her back, pushing herself into his hand.

She felt his tongue creep out and touch her, wetting her shirt, hot dampness seeping through. She couldn't stand it any longer.

“Hang on….”

She wriggled beneath him, catching at her top and ripping it upwards. It caught on her ears, and she shook her head to free it, a tangle of her hair getting pulled by the neckhole, knocking her glasses askew.

Lucas pushed himself up, his eyes wide as she fumbled behind her for the catch of her bra.

“Holy shit…” he whispered as she undid it with an impatient jerk, tugging it down her arms and tossing it aside.

His gaze moved over her, prickling her skin with its intensity. She squirmed, wanting him to touch her but unsure how to ask.

He looked her in the eye, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked, his hope unmistakable, and she nodded.

“I've been on the pill for ages,” she said. “For my….monthlies…..”

Ridiculous to be embarrassed to mention periods when her tits were bare under him, but he nodded in understanding.

He lowered his head, kissing a nipple, sucking it into his mouth. She felt the pull right down to her pussy. His hands were on the button of her jeans, struggling to undo it, but she was in no state to help him. It came free after a struggle, and he pulled at the tab of her zip, coaxing it down.

There was a crash from somewhere in the building, followed by a muffled curse.

Lucas jumped as if scalded.

“Lucas! You oughta tidy up this shit,” called Zoe's voice. “Nearly got fuckin’ crushed to death!”

He was off Emily in an instant, grabbing her bra and thrusting it at her.

“Quick!”

Emily didn't have to be told twice. She thrust her arms through the straps, clumsy in her panic. Lucas had already dived headfirst into his t-shirt and was now engaged in a wrestling match with it, trying to put his head through the armhole. As she did up her bra and picked up her t-shirt, Emily gazed mournfully at the front of his jeans, his thwarted hard-on refusing to back down.

He shrugged on his hoodie, giving her a grim look, his bottom lip jutting out in that sulky way he had.

“Where you at, Lucas?”

Zoe was tramping upstairs now, her footsteps advancing inexorably. Lucas zipped his hoodie, pulling the bottom of it down to cover the evidence, as Emily adjusted her shirt.

Just before Zoe barreled into the room Lucas had the foresight to scoop up Emily’s sketchbook and stuff it into her backpack. 

He opened the door before Zoe could knock.

“The fuck do you want?” he demanded, not attempting to hide his surliness.

Zoe raised her eyebrows at him.

“Well, excuse me! Momma sent me over to tell you supper’s ready. Why, what were ya doin’?”

She craned to look over his shoulder, disappointment plain on her face as she spotted Emily, fully clothed and demure, putting away her pencils.

“They got wind o’ yer friend, too,” said Zoe. “I didn't tell ‘em! They saw her through the window. Momma’s all excited, wants her to stay for supper.”

“Shit!”

Lucas sighed, looking over his shoulder.

“Uh, Emily? You wanna stay for supper? My folks are prolly having some kind o’ seizure, they wanna meet you so much. You don't have to!” he added quickly.

“No, I'd like to,” said Emily, thinking it would be more time to spend with Lucas.

“Ok. We're comin’ down now,” said Lucas, and Zoe went strolling off.

 

“And who might this little lady be?”

Lucas’s father peered at her over his glasses, a friendly smile fighting through his beard. Emily had never seen anyone's eyes twinkle before, though she'd heard it described often, but it appeared Lucas’s dad could do it on command.

“This here's Emily,” said Lucas, the sulky boy once more. “She goes to ma school. She's an artist.”

The big man strode towards her, all but swallowing her hand in his own. He reminded Emily of a big, friendly bear.

“Pleased to meet you Mr Baker,” she squeaked, and he grinned at her like he was about to lean down and pinch her cheek.

“Aw, call me Jack, honey. Mr Baker is my father!” he chuckled. “We're happy to have you in our home!”

Jack looked at his son with an indulgent wink, evidently proud that his son had finally brought a girl home.

Lucas looked like he was waiting for the ground to swallow him up.

A woman that could only be Lucas’s mother bustled into the room, brushing dark hair shot through with grey strands away from her face. She had a faded sort of prettiness. Emily was willing to bet she'd been a hottie when she was younger.

“Hello, Cher! I'm Marguerite. Lucas’s Momma,” she added unnecessarily. “I'm so glad you could stay for supper!”

She was clasping her hands in front of her with thinly veiled excitement, her eyes glowing.

“It's a pleasure, Mrs Baker.”

The woman wagged a finger at her.

“Uh-uh.  _ Marguerite. _ I insist.” She looked at her son.  “Such lovely manners!”

She went out to the kitchen, squeezing Lucas’s arm with affection as she passed.

Emily stifled a smile at Lucas’s sullen expression. Zoe looked amused too, grinning as she swapped her gaze back and forth between them.

 

The evening passed pleasantly enough. Marguerite’s food was on the stodgy side, but tasty enough, and Emily ate so much she surprised herself. Not as much as Lucas though, she observed. Where did that boy put it all?

Jack and Marguerite asked many questions, in typical parent style, asking about family and England with what appeared to be genuine interest. Emily wondered if they were already planning a transAtlantic wedding.

Lucas was short with everyone but her, but his family seemed used to it. She sensed that he was embarrassed by them rather than her, though he needn't have been. She thought they were sweet. Even Zoe was friendly to her.

The end eventually came when the big grandfather clock in the living room struck, and Emily realised what time it was.

“Oh my god! Is that really the time? I have to get home!”

“Don't let us stop ya, honey,” said Jack. “Don't want ya turnin’ into a pumpkin!”

He winked at her.

“Daddy, it was the coach that turned into a pumpkin, not the girl!” chided Zoe.

“Why, you're right! All this time it never occurred to me. Anyway, boy, you better walk your young lady home.”

“I was gonna,” said Lucas, glowering.

He glanced at her, his expression softening.

“C’mon, Emily. I'll get ya back safe.”

 

As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Lucas took her hand. Emily accepted it with outward calm, but inside her heart jumped for joy.

“Well, that didn't go ta plan, did it?” remarked Lucas, rubbing his thumb along her palm.

“No,” she giggled, bumping her shoulder against him. “We'll have to try again soon…..”

“Damn right!”

He swept in and planted an impulsive kiss on her temple.

They stopped several times on the way home to make out against the trunks of the cypress trees, Spanish Moss hanging overhead like a magical veil. The atmosphere was eerie in the swamp at twilight, other-worldly and weird but beautiful all at once, and Emily saw fireflies for the first time.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so happy.

 

“Tomorrow? What do you mean, tomorrow?” 

Emily’s voice was nearly a screech, but her mother didn't seem impressed.

“I've been telling you for a while now that we'd have to leave soon, but you've been in a world of your own. Spending all your time in your room,” she reproached.

“But I  _ can't  _ go!” insisted Emily. “I've only just made some friends!”

Emily’s mother sighed.

“I'm sorry, but we have to. I thought you'd be pleased - you've done nothing but complain about the heat since we got here. Anyway, I've packed most of your stuff. There's just some bits and bobs still need doing. You'd better get a move on.”

 

They were leaving in the afternoon, and even though Emily didn't have to go to school, she was up early and waiting by the entrance.

Lucas was usually late, she'd noticed, but today he was on time, his narrow face lighting up when he saw her, only for his joy to be squashed when he saw the look on her face.

She'd cried most of the night, finally falling asleep surrounded by crumpled pictures, and despite repeated applications of cold water, her eyes were still puffy and red. She thought she'd cried herself out - she'd given herself a headache and a stuffy nose that still persisted - but when she saw him slouching towards her, fresh tears began.

“Emily? What's wrong? What's happened?”

His face full of concern, he took her to one side, away from the crush of kids surging towards the entrance.

“I'm leaving!” she sobbed. “My dad's business wants him somewhere else.”

“Leaving? When?”

“This afternoon!”

Tears smudged her glasses, and she swiped at them miserably. She couldn't see Lucas well enough to gauge his reaction, but he was quiet, and when she finally gave in and took her glasses off to clean them, she saw that his expression was solemn and crushed.

“So soon?” he asked quietly. “Fuck.”

Emily embarrassed herself by the force of her wails, drawing curious glances from passing kids, but Lucas wasn't abashed. He put his arms around her, drawing her into his chest, and she ground her soggy face against the front of his hoodie, sobs heaving her shoulders.

“Lucas! What you done to make that little girl cry, boy?” came a mocking voice.

“Shut the fuck up, Brent!” snarled Lucas, hugging Emily closer.

He lowered his voice.

“C’mon, Emily. Let's get outta here.”

“But school…..”

“Fuck school. It don't matter.”

 

They spent a precious few hours together in the swamp. Emily got eaten alive by insects, though they largely ignored Lucas.

He took her to an isolated place he knew and they clung together in a hollow made of bushes.

“What are we going to do, Lucas?” asked Emily once her crying had abated.

“Nothin’,” said Lucas morosely. “Can't do nothin’.”

It wasn't the answer she wanted, but it was at least realistic.

He sighed.

“Wish I could just kidnap ya, an’ take ya away from all this. Keep ya somewhere away from everybody.”

It was an odd thing to say, she supposed, but at that moment it was what she wanted.

She fingered the zip at the front of his hoodie.

“We could - you know - here - before I go…..” she suggested shyly.

“In the swamp? Are you kiddin’? Our asses would be sucked dry by mosquitos ‘fore we was two minutes in!” he said. “‘sides, ain't just that I want from ya.”

He squeezed her tightly.

“I mean, I want it. Just not like this. I want all o’ you. All the stuff that goes with it. Y’know?”

Emily nodded. She understood, but was disappointed. It would have been a nice parting gift. But would it have made their separation worse?

As if reading her mind, he spoke again.

“Anyways, think that ‘ud make it worse. Knowing what it was like, but not bein’ able to have it again…..”

“I could write,” she said hopelessly, but she knew as she said it what a pallid and insignificant comfort that would be.

Lucas was already shaking his head before the three words were out.

“Don't do that,” he said. “Won't help none. Not if you ain't comin’ back.”

He held her hand in his, fiddling with her fingers sadly.

“Only write me if you're comin’ back. Only then. Otherwise it'll just hurt.”

Emily laid her head on his shoulder, feeling wretched. He was right, but it didn't make it any better.

“You better get back, Emily. Ain't gonna do us no good sittin’ here. Won't change nothin’.”

He walked her home slowly, both of them dragging their feet. The closer to home she got, the more despair Emily felt.

“I ain't gonna forget ya,” he told her. “Ya know that, right?”

She shrugged. It didn't matter.

He stopped her at the corner by her house, dragging her into the bushes and kissing her as though trying to absorb enough of her to last him a lifetime, and then he was gone, walking away with his head down, not looking back.

 

_ 2017 _

 

Her parents were renting a house in Baton Rouge and Emily had two weeks to kill.

She flew out to join them thinking of nothing more than relaxing for 14 days and drinking cocktails, but after only 2 days of hangovers in the sweltering heat she got bored and started looking for something else to do.

Her parents had a guidebook, a handy map of Louisiana inside it, and whilst Emily was looking for St Francisville with a view to visiting the Myrtles Plantation she discovered Dulvey in a crease, half-hidden by a staple. It wasn't far.

She hadn't written, of course, to tell Lucas she was coming back. Why would she? She hadn't known herself, and it was only for 2 weeks. But having seen the word on the map, she couldn't help thinking about him.

10 years was a long time. He might have moved away. He might be married. He might be dead, or in prison, or any number of things. He might have forgotten all about her.

Emily didn't care. She'd left a broken relationship and a stack of unfinished paintings behind in England and if she was within driving distance of Dulvey, as it appeared she was, she was going to fucking go there.

 

Dulvey was almost how she remembered it. Parts of the town had been rebuilt, it seemed, and the man at the gas station told her there had been a storm a few years back that had flooded most of the area.

Emily remembered what Lucas has said about the storms, and wondered if his parent's house still stood.

“If ya don't mind me askin’,” said the man, whose name tag proclaimed him to be Kirk, “What brings you to these parts?”

“I lived here for a bit back in 2007. Thought I'd come and take a look at the place since I was in the area.”

“2007?” Kirk raised an eyebrow. “Couldn't o’ been much more’n a kid then.”

“I was 16,” she said. “Went to school here for a while.”

“Got some old friends ya wanna look up, I reckon,” said Kirk.

“Actually, yes. I was a friend of the Baker family. The ones who lived on the edge of the swamp. Are they still around?”

Kirk sighed, shaking his head slowly. Emily’s heart sank, despite the effort she'd made not to get her hopes up.

“They just up ‘n’ left one day, no word to anyone. Was just after the storm. Just disappeared. Ain't nobody seen hide nor hair of ‘em since. We thought maybe their old house had been destroyed an’ they had to relocate, but it's still standin’. Folks round here say it's haunted.”

He snorted, giving his opinion on that without words.

“Shame, really. Jack was a good old boy, my wife was friendly with his wife. That boy o’ theirs was little on the shady side, but my son Mason took a shine to their daughter Zoe. Was gonna make a move on her, didn't get a chance.”

“Oh.”

Emily didn't know what to say, though she objected to the man’s opinion on Lucas.

“2007…..” the man mused. “Was you around when that boy went missin’?”

“Which boy?”

“Brent. Brent Chambers. Used to play football.”

“Brent went missing?”

“Uh-huh. No word to anyone, just gone. His folks was inconsolable, o’ course, but he'd just broke up with his girl Sherri not long before, so maybe that had somethin’ to do with it. She claimed he'd been cheatin’ on her with an older, married woman, so maybe her husband ran him outta town. Was strange though.”

Emily didn't know what to say. And she'd thought Brent’s girlfriend had been Brandi. She'd nearly been right.

She paid for her gas and left, a lot more subdued than she'd been before. She'd had a wasted journey, but now she was here she was reluctant to leave right away. Not knowing what else to do she checked the roadmap on her phone and drove to the Baker's house.

 

The big gates at the front of the house were chained shut.

Emily had fought her way through clouds of mosquitos and an overgrown path to get there, and now she was there she wasn't sure what to do. She'd hoped she'd be able to explore a little, wander round the grounds, but it seemed the Bakers had secured the place before they'd left.

Sighing, she turned away.

Her only other option was to drive around to the school and go on foot through the swamp. It had been 10 years, but she thought she'd remember the way. The path had been pretty clear, worn down by Lucas and Zoe over many years, so theoretically all she had to do was follow it.

She trudged back to the rental car and got in.

 

Emily didn't know why she was so determined to explore the Baker property. It might have had something to do with her not wanting to admit to having had a wasted journey, or it might have been due to sheer nostalgia. It certainly wasn't sensible, and technically it was trespassing, even if the family that owned it no longer lived there, but she hadn't had any kind of adventure for a long time and she felt she deserved one now.

She parked her car down the street from the school and skirted the grounds until she found the little lane that cut through the bushes. Checking her phone was in her pocket, she pushed through. Twigs snatched at her hair as she passed, the path no longer smoothed by the bodies of the Baker siblings taking the shortcut, but it didn't deter her.

The air was muggy and damp, and Emily had to swat at insects that droned past her face. Her glasses slid down her sweaty nose and she pushed them back up.

The path was still there, after a fashion. Nature had crowded back in to reclaim it, the edges fuzzy with encroaching undergrowth, and the ground felt soft underfoot. Emily marched on, remembering walking through here with Lucas the first time. The memory tugged at her heart briefly. She couldn't help wondering what would have happened if she hadn't had to leave. Chances are they wouldn't have lasted this long, but it would have been nice to find out.

The forced move had crushed her like it never had before. She'd moved around a lot in her childhood due to her father's work - roughly 17 times by the time she'd turned 16, once even moving between Spain and Gibraltar 4 times in the space of a year. But though the moving had bothered her, due to having to make new friends and attending so many different schools, she'd never been so sad to actually leave a place. Or a person.

As much as it had hurt her, she had to wonder if it had hurt Lucas more. He'd been so accepting of it in his own fatalistic way, as though he'd expected something to go wrong and the news had merely been a confirmation of that. She wondered how he'd coped.

The path broadened, opening into a clearing. Now she was here, memories were sparking. She imagined them tumbling around in her head, clashing off each other like asteroids, triggering little scenes every time they touched. She could pinpoint every tree they’d stopped to kiss against when Lucas had walked her home, identify the clump of bushes they'd hidden in before she'd left. She was approaching the spot where Lucas had taken her hand, which meant she was nearly in sight of the house.

The heat was wilting her, and she stopped to take off her shirt and tie it round her waist. Her English skin wasn't used to the sun, and her mother had insisted she wear a thin shirt over her strappy top, but at this point she'd rather be burned than tolerate the sweaty cloth next to her skin a moment longer.

There was a huge, broad-trunked tree blocking the house from view, its bark covered in some kind of creeper. As she rounded its base, she moaned with disappointment at the tall gate that greeted her.

The rusted metal was tangled with vines, forming a mesh between the wrought curlicues, and she peered through the dense greenery. She could see a corner of the house with its raised porch, thick columns supporting the roof. The one window she could see was boarded up roughly. She leaned closer, straining her eyes, and the gate shifted.

Perplexed, she tested it, pushing against the bars, and it moved a little more. It wasn't locked!

Feeling a surge of optimism, she leaned her weight against it, feeling vines rip as she shoved. The overgrown kudzu had been holding it closed, and the tough stems didn't want to loose their grip. She wished she had a machete so she could hack her way through, explorer-like.

After a few minutes of effort Emily had managed to force a gap large enough for her to squeeze through, and she did so. There was an air of hush on the other side, quiet that hadn't been disturbed for years. Nature was undergoing the process of claiming the land back. The front lawn that Jack had likely kept mown had run rampant, weeds choking the path, bushes spilling over from the edges, and climbing plants crawled all over the building.

Emily ignored the front door, seeing a large plank nailed across it, and instead headed for the side of the building. There was an overgrown path leading around to the back of the house, and she trod her way cautiously along it.

A fence blocked her way, the wood rotten, several slats obligingly loose, and she ducked through the hole that had been made.

She stood in high bushes that threatened to overrun the verandah at the back, looking out over the muddy ground that spanned the distance between the house and the old trailer.

She frowned. The grass here was short, with bald patches that still held the water from the last rains. It looked well worn, as if this were a busy area. Creeping out, now feeling nervous, she approached the trailer. One of the doors was boarded up, but the other was open a crack.

Emily used her fingertips to ease the door open another couple of inches, and a waft of air greeted her - not stale and old, but bearing the odour of fresh cigarette smoke and the ghost of old meals. A sluggish fan moved the air inside. Emily backed hurriedly away, feeling a hint of peril now. She imagined a homeless person finding the abandoned property and deciding to call it their own.

There was a Youtube video she'd watched a while ago - a man who called himself an Urban Explorer. He'd been investigating a ruined house and had found signs of life - a bag full of supplies and a tupperware container filled with wraps of some sort of narcotic. Whilst he'd roamed the upper floor, the druggies who were using the building as their own had returned, forcing him to hide, terrified, in the disused bathroom.

She'd been petrified for him, watching it, her own heart pounding as he crouched amidst the shattered porcelain chips of the broken bathroom suite, praying in urgent whispers for them to go.

She didn't want that to happen to her.

Turning to go, she heard a noise from within the house - a door slamming - and she froze. Her bladder clenched, threatening to spill over, and she tensed her muscles.

The back door opened, banging against the wall, and the tall, burly figure of Jack Baker stood there.

Emily nearly fainted with relief.

“Mr Baker!” she cried. “It's you! Oh my god, you scared me.”

The man said nothing. She couldn't see his eyes with the glare of the afternoon sun reflecting off the lenses of his glasses, but his face looked grim, his mouth a hard line within his beard.

He was greyer than he'd been 10 years ago, and his clothes looked dirty. He didn't appear to be about to welcome her, and she wondered if he remembered her at all.

“Um…..my name’s Emily. We met 10 years ago. Your son Lucas brought me home?”

He didn't reply, but one of his bushy eyebrows twitched in response.

“I'm sorry for just walking on in, but someone from town mentioned that you didn't live here any more……”

It wasn't exactly an explanation for her presence, she realised.

“Uh….I was very fond of your son….I had some good memories of him, and I wanted to……” 

She shrugged. Mr Baker still hadn't made any move to greet or reject her, and his impassiveness was making her deeply uncomfortable.

“Shall I just go?” she suggested. “I didn't mean to be rude…..”

Finally, the man statue shifted, one leg moving forward.

“Emily….” he rumbled. “I remember. Lucas’s friend. Nice girl. Good manners.”

“Yes! That's me!” she said eagerly.

“Broke ma son’s heart, as I recall.”

“Oh….well, that wasn't my fault…..”

He grunted.

“You better come in, I guess.”

He stepped to one side, the open doorway a dark maw next to him. He jerked his head towards it.

“In you go, now.”

Against her better judgement, Emily climbed the steps and went into the house.

 

It was even gloomier than she remembered inside. The huge, high windows were caked with grime, filtering out much of the natural light. A thin coating of dust overlay everything.

“Is Lucas here?” she asked, severely on edge now.

Jack ignored her, pushing past her none too gently. A thick odour came off him - sweat and dirty laundry and a reek like spoiled meat. He strode towards the double doors at the other side of the room.

“Marguerite!” he yelled through the doors, his voice a rough bellow. “Get your ass out here! We got company!”

He turned back to Emily.

“Now you're here, you best stay for supper.” 

It didn't have the air of an invitation about it - more that of an order.

Emily shuddered, but nodded meekly.

Lucas’s mother's voice drifted through the doorway.

“What you talkin’ about, Jack?”

Emily remembered the woman having a pleasant voice - an almost musical, Southern lilt, but the voice she heard now was a travesty of that, a witch’s screech that hurt her ears.

“We got company!” Jack repeated, louder, his tone annoyed now. “Didn't ya fuckin’ hear me the first time?”

“I heard you! What company?”

“That little girl…..friend o’ Lucas’s. You remember? Made him cry!”

“That bitch?”

Marguerite sounded pissed off.

There was a scuffle from the hallway, and Mrs Baker burst through the doors. The woman was barely recognisable, her hair snarled and matted, her cracked lips drawn into a harsh scowl. She squinted at Emily.

“You!”

The syllable had all the ominous threat of a growling dog.

Her gait was jerky and bowlegged as she stalked closer.

“Held my son’s head on my knee as he sobbed for you!” she declared. “Hadn't seen him cry since he was little, yet you walked in here and broke him like it weren't nothin’!”

“It wasn't my fault!” wailed Emily, tears stinging her own eyes. “My parents moved away!”

The woman was right up in her face now, foul breath washing over her.

“I cried too, Mrs Baker…..” whimpered Emily.

Marguerite studied her, watching the salty drop that trickled down her cheek. Her face softened and relaxed. She tilted her head to the side.

“Did ya, cher?” she asked. “Did ya cry for my boy?”

Emily nodded.

“Awww……”

Marguerite straightened, patting her arm. Her nails were cracked and jagged, grimed with dirt.

“Bless you.”

She smiled, baring yellow teeth. It wasn't a very reassuring smile, but Emily was prepared to take what she could.

“Well, now, you best come on through. Supper’s nearly ready.”

She turned to her husband.

“Didn't I tell ya, Jack? My cookin’ draws ‘em in from miles around!”

Jack grunted, a thunderous sound like a chuckle emitting from his throat.

“Yeah, you sure did, honey. I shouldn't never o’ doubted ya!”

Marguerite led the way, with Emily following a safe distance behind, though Jack walked too closely behind her, the toes of his boots clipping her heels and nearly tripping her.

Everything about the situation felt wrong. Had the family been hiding out here, in secret, for more than two years? Had they rejected the outside world so much that people had thought they'd gone? It didn't seem possible, though it was the most likely explanation.

“Will Lucas and Zoe be joining us?” she asked, her voice betraying her anxiety.

She still had no clue whether either of them were still here.

“Huh! Zoe…..that girl is the most ungrateful child on God's earth! Don't appreciate a lovin’ family,” grumbled Jack. “Spends all her time hidin’ out in that old trailer, doin’ nothin’ but eat us outta house an’ home!”

So Zoe was here, though she hadn't been in the trailer. Emily wondered where she was.

The staircase by the kitchen was blocked, the bottom of the stairwell piled with junk, and some of the treads were broken. It matched the disrepair of the rest of the house.

Black mould coated many of the walls.

There was an old woman in a wheelchair at the end of the hallway, her face lined with deep wrinkles, her head lolling to one side as if she couldn't support it. Pale, rheumy eyes regarded Emily. Neither Jack nor Marguerite acknowledged the woman she presumed was the mother of one of them, but Emily shot a polite nod in her direction.

How horrible, she thought, to be a prisoner in one's own body and in this house.

A vile smell greeted her at the doorway to the kitchen, and Emily gagged, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. It was a hot stench, stewed and rotten and somehow mouldy.

Jack took a couple of deep breaths through his nose, sniffing deeply.

“Mmmmm-mmmmm- _ mmmmmm _ !” he said. “That smells good enough to eat, honey!”

Marguerite giggled, a high, girlish sound.

“Oh, Jack!” she said, swatting at him playfully. “You're such a joker!”

Jack moved past Emily and shambled into the living room, sitting heavily on the couch. He picked up the tv remote and began to flick through the channels. All of them were just static, but he appeared pleased by one of them and settled down to watch.

Marguerite went into the kitchen, checking a bubbling pot on the stove, and stirred it, agitating the smell it gave off and causing a wave of nausea to wash over Emily as she loitered by the doorway.

_ I've got to get out of here!  _ she thought wildly, but as she took a steps back towards the door, Marguerite turned and spotted her.

“Sit down, child!” she urged. “Make yourself at home. I'm just gonna call Lucas down.”

Lucas!

Terrified as she was, the knowledge that Lucas was there still sent a familiar tingle through her very core. He was here, and she was going to see him.

Marguerite poked her head through the kitchen door as Emily sat gingerly on one of the wooden chairs at the table. The table top was filthy, smeared with dirt and grease.

“Lucas!” bawled the woman. “Supper!”

She dropped Emily a conspiratorial wink.

“He is gonna be so surprised to see you!” she predicted, looking pleased.

There were footsteps from overhead, the slouching tread Emily recognised even now, and her heart sent a pang of excitement through her system. The footsteps ended near where she judged the top of the stairs would be, and there was a pause followed by a heavy thud in the hallway.

In the living room, Jack shook his head in despair.

“Why can't that boy come down the other stairs like normal folk!” he grumbled. “Forever jumpin’ down there…..”

The footsteps went past the doorway, and Emily heard the unmistakable voice she had craved for nearly a decade.

“Hey, Eveline. Ya comin’ ta supper? Here, I'll push ya. Don't look like nobody else gonna do it…..”

Wheels squeaked, and the double doors crashed open.

Lucas rolled the old woman in.

His face wore the bored look she remembered so well, but now it lay on a man’s features. The hook of a nose she had drawn over and over seemed to fit this older face better, its pronounced loom better suited to the more mature, angular lines of his cheekbones. He had several day’s growth of stubble, thicker than the peach-fuzz she'd known previously.

Her prediction about his hair had been right, too, his forehead even higher, his hairline receding.

He looked ill, in all honesty, his skin pale from lack of sunlight, his eyes deep set and exhausted with red rims.

Lucas was looking downwards, watching where the wheels of the chair were placed, manoeuvring the contraption past the table. As he slid it into position, he glanced up, and stopped dead.

Marguerite gave a happy crow from the kitchen.

“Surprise! Bet ya weren't expectin’ our visitor!”

Lucas’s mouth had dropped open, his eyes wide as he stared at her.

Emily managed a twitchy smile.

“Hi, Lucas,” she said.

He found his voice.

“Emily?”

Incredulous, but more: What was that other emotion? Anger? Sadness? Joy? Emily couldn't identify it.

“What’re you doin’ here?”

That little wrinkle between his eyebrows formed, the one that had made her want to kiss it all those years ago. He was shaking his head in denial under his hood.

Nothing here was right. Emily knew it. So she wasn't surprised at his reaction. It was possible she was in some kind of danger - danger she'd walked right into of her own free will - and she didn't blame him for his disbelief. She didn't quite believe what she'd done herself.

“I came to see you….”

Her voice was a weak whisper, drenched in tears, and they spilled from her eyes as he watched.

“Shit….” she heard him mutter under his breath.

He glanced at his parents. Jack was still watching tv. Marguerite had returned to the stove. He looked down at the old woman, then shot Emily a warning glance. He cleared his throat.

“Well, uh, hey there, Emily!” he said with forced cheer, his expression not matching his tone. “Fancy seein’ you here!”

Emily couldn't speak, tears flowing freely now as she quietly began to cave in.

“How ya doin’?” he persisted, darting round the table towards her, using the cuff of his grubby hoodie to swiftly mop the tears from her cheeks.

His head ducked down to her level, his face close to hers. His eyes searched her face.

“Try an’ act normal,” he cautioned in a barely audible voice. “Imma get you outta here!”

He retreated, seating himself to her left, the old woman parked off to one side.

Emily fought to regain control of herself, gulping her tears back, scrubbing at her cheeks.

She felt Lucas touch her arm, a fleeting contact.

“Well, ain't this cosy!” he remarked.

Jack switched off the tv and ambled up to the table. He looked from Emily to Lucas and back again. That twinkle she had seen in his eye the first time she'd met him had been replaced by a dangerous gleam.

“Well, this is nice,” he said. “Lucas’s little girlfriend, all grown up.”

He sat in the chair opposite Emily, staring at her. There was a sly grin on his face, the lips pulled back from his teeth in a way that made Emily quake internally. He looked like he was thinking about eating her.

Lucas’s foot nudged her under the table.

“Hey, dad,” he said, leaning towards his father.

Jack tore his eyes from her to focus on his son.

“Me an’ Emily got some, uh,  _ unfinished business  _ to deal with, if ya know what I mean…..”

He kept his voice low, glancing furtively at his mother in the kitchen as she started spooning some foul-looking slop onto plates.

Jack’s grin broadened. He gave a dirty laugh, looking at Emily once more, cowering in her seat.

“D’ya think I could maybe skip dinner an’ take care o’ it?”

Lucas waggled his eyebrows at his father suggestively.

Jack pondered.

“Well, ya know yer mother wouldn't approve….” he said.

“I know, but, fuck…..” Lucas lowered his voice further. “She ain't gonna be in no fit state once the process starts, now, is she? C’mon, dad. Lemme at her ‘fore the mould gets to her…..”

Emily focused on the dirty table, the grain of the wood caked in black gunk, and pretended she couldn't hear.

“Ok,” decided Jack finally. “I'll deal with yer mother. Just don't break her, ya hear? She looks healthy. Make a fine addition. An’ you bring her right back once you’re finished with her.”

Lucas was on his feet in seconds, grabbing the top of Emily’s arm in an iron grip and pulling her roughly to her feet. She opened her mouth to protest the brusque treatment, but Lucas’s palm slapped over her mouth, sealing in any complaints.

She'd thought of Lucas as an ally just seconds before, but now she wasn't so sure.

She made a grab at the table with her free hand, missing as Lucas dragged her away, flailing out for any anchor. She caught a handle of the wheelchair and hung on with panicked desperation, but Lucas growled and cruelly pried her fingers free.

His arm went around her waist, lifting her off her feet, and she kicked backwards with her heels as he proceeded to carry her from the room.

Marguerite twisted to see the spectacle as they reached the doors, and Emily pleaded the woman with her eyes, but Lucas’s mother only sighed, placing her hands on her hips as her son conveyed the struggling girl from the room.

“Where on earth is that boy going?” Emily heard her say as Lucas swept out through the doors.

“He's gonna miss supper!”

“Aw, come on now, Marguerite,” soothed Jack. “Let the youngsters have some time alone. We were their age once, remember?”

Marguerite giggled.

 

Lucas carried her around the corner until they were out of earshot before dumping her back onto her feet and taking his hand from her mouth.

The second her feet touched the floor, she tried to run, but he pushed her against the wall, pinning her there.

“What - ?” she began, but he pressed his fingers over her lips.

“It's ok,” he said. “I ain't gonna hurt ya. But I had to get ya outta there an’ this was all I could think of. I'll explain once we're somewhere safe. Meantime, just act real reluctant, ok?”

Emily didn't have chance to agree before he'd grabbed her again, ducking down and hoisting her over his shoulder. She let out a frightened yelp as she dangled upside down along his back, grabbing the rear of his hoodie for support. He hooked his arm behind her knees, and continued on along the corridor.

“Quicker this way,” he remarked, pushing open the double doors and sweeping across the hall.

Her weight didn't seem to hinder him at all. When the fuck did he get so strong? Emily clutched her glasses to her face as he moved with surprising speed, kicking open the back door and making his way across the yard.

He stopped, and there were several beeping sounds before a door opened. Lucas stepped into an enclosed stairwell, slamming the door behind him and bounding up the steps two at a time.

When he got to the top, he bent and set her on her feet.

Dizzy from the ride, Emily staggered, but Lucas’s strong arms held her up, grabbing her hips.

She blinked to focus, and there was his face in front of hers, looking at her with concern. 

“You ok?” he asked. “Sorry ‘bout that, Emily. Had ta make it look good. Weren't safe for ya there. An’ you didn't wanna have ta eat what was for supper, trust me.”

Emily didn't want to start crying again, but the confusion of the last few minutes coupled with the dread she'd been feeling since she'd entered the main house threatened to spill over, and she felt her face begin the pre-cry scrunch.

“Hey, hey, hey! Don't be like that! It's okay….”

He rubbed her hip comfortingly, and for want of anything better to do, she toppled forward and buried her face in his shoulder.

She felt his body tense, and for a moment worried he'd push her away, but then his arms crept cautiously around her, pulling her up against him.

She sighed, relaxing into his embrace. His clothes were filthy and smelled unwashed, but under it all he smelled like soap.

“What the fuck are ya doin’ here, Emily?” he marvelled, the vibration of his voice travelling through her.

“I came to see you,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “Someone in town said the house was empty, but I had to see for myself….”

Lucas sighed.

“That was prolly one o’ the worst decisions ya ever made,” he told her. “Everythin’s all fucked up here. Ya may have noticed.”

He peeled her away from him, gently but firmly.

“C’mon. It'll be dark soon. Can't move ya when it's dark. We'll have ta wait till mornin’ now ‘fore I try an’ sneak ya outta here. Let's get ya somewhere ya can relax.”

 

He took her to his old hideout, the place where she'd drawn him. It smelled strongly of bleach and fresh paint, but aside from that it hadn't changed much.

She got an overwhelming sensation of deja vu as he ducked down to the mini-fridge, still rattling away by his desk, but the spell was broken when he produced two brown bottles of beer instead of coke.

He waggled one in her direction, eyebrows raised questioningly, and she nodded, tensing, waiting for him to toss it at her, but instead he popped the cap off on a bottle opener nailed to the wall and carried it over to her.

“All I got, I'm afraid. But hey - we're adults now, right?”

“I don't feel like it most of the time,” she muttered, accepting the bottle and taking a swig.

Lucas opened his own and regarded her thoughtfully as he sipped.

“You still do your art ‘n’ stuff?” he asked.

It felt weird making small talk after all that had happened, but Emily nodded.

“When I can.”

Lucas paused.

“Got a boyfriend?” he asked, too casually.

“Not anymore. We broke up a few months ago. His name was Scott.”

“Sounds like an asshole,” glowered Lucas, and Emily laughed.

“To be fair, he was…..”

Lucas stared at her a while longer, making her squirm inwardly.

“You look good…..” he said. “Stopped bitin’ yer nails, I see.”

Emily blushed, looking down at her hands. She'd managed to kick the habit eventually, and was stupidly touched that he'd noticed. Such a little thing, but it showed he remembered small details about her.

She looked up just in time to see his eyes flick down to her chest guiltily before dancing back up again. He looked embarrassed that he'd been caught, turning his gaze away, hiding behind his beer.

“Sorry…..” he muttered.

“It's ok….” she said.

Being a 34FF she was accustomed to sneaky glances, but with Lucas she didn't mind. She liked him looking at her like that - like he still found her attractive.

She fiddled with the label on her beer bottle, nervously peeling the edge away.

Lucas set his bottle on the desk, and Emily flinched. The atmosphere in the room was charged with an energy she thought might be sexual. It was on her side, at least.

“Look, uh, you just wait here a minute. I gotta get changed. When I get back I'll tell you ‘bout what's been goin’ on…..”

He made his escape, hurrying from the room.

Not sure what else to do, Emily sat on the couch. It was softer than she remembered it, more worn, and she sank so deeply into it that she thought she might need some help getting out.

She could hear Lucas moving around in the next room. There was no door, and she listened to the whisper of cloth, the rasp of a zip. His shadow was cast off the wall in front of the doorway, undulating as he undressed. Emily clutched her bottle tighter, dry mouthed as his shadow pulled its jeans down.

She turned away, feeling like some kind of pervert, but couldn't help the odd glance over her shoulder.

When Lucas reappeared, he was wearing clean clothes, and he retrieved his bottle before sitting next to her.

“What happened here?” asked Emily.

She'd been stewing over it as she waited, in between snatching glimpses of semi-naked shadow-Lucas.

He took a long swallow of beer.

“Back in 2014 there was a storm. Can't remember the name o’ it - they all got names, right? - but it may as well been called Hurricane Eveline, cuz that's when she came.

“There was a ship, see. A tanker called the Annabelle, carryin’ a bioweapon in the form o’ a 10 year old girl, an’ durin’ the storm it got grounded in the swamp nearby. I saw it, an’ told my folks. Wish I never had. My old man went out to see if there were any survivors, came back with a woman called Mia an’ a little girl called Eveline.

“Eveline is….well, she ain't even properly human. Not really. She's got this stuff in her…..it's kinda hard to explain…..it's a mould. She uses it to infect ya, an’ when you're fully infected, she's got ya. Got yer mind an’ body. Can make ya do whatever she wants. Make ya kill for her.

“Took less than 2 weeks for us to go under. Zoe, well, she managed to get away with stayin’ just outta Eveline’s reach, though she still got some infection in her.”

“What about you? You seem….normal.”

Lucas laughed.

“Aw, c’mon now, Emily! I ain't ever been normal, you know that! Naw, I was under, just like ma folks. But 2 years in, some fellas from the company that developed Eveline, they decided they wanted a spy. Someone on the inside ta keep ‘em up to date with what was goin’ on. An’ that lucky sonofabitch was me. Shot me full o’ cure. I still got the infection, an’ all that goes with it - like, I'm super strong, an’ I heal up real quick - but Eveline ain't got no hold over me no more.”

He looked at her.

“What d’ya think o’ that?”

“Well, it sounds like bullshit,” said Emily frankly.

“Yeah, it does. I know. True though.”

“But I believe you anyway.”

She chewed on her bottom lip.

“It must have been terrible.”

“I guess. To start with. But once I was under….well, I didn't really care about anythin’.”

He looked at her.

“I sure am glad ya didn't come back then, Emily…..I'd o’ done terrible things to ya.”

Emily felt her heart quicken.

“What sort of terrible things?”

She tried hard not to sound too interested, but apparently failed.

Lucas raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Not what you're thinkin’.”

“Oh.”

Lucas sighed and slumped back on the couch, tipping his head back.

“Y’know, I never stopped thinkin’ about ya,” he said. “You was the closest I ever got to havin’ a girlfriend. Even if it was for less than 24 hours.”

He turned his head to gaze at her.

“Often wondered whether you ever thought about me. But here you are. So I guess you must have. An’ now I gotta get you outta here again. Fuckin’ life, right?”

Emily finished her beer, feeling as awkward as she had when she was 16. She desperately wanted to get closer to him, but wasn't used to making the first move.

“Oh, hey! I just remembered.”

Lucas struggled out of the depths of the couch and went over to his desk, opening a drawer. He extracted a thick sheet of paper.

“Looky, looky. I still got it.”

He held it out to her.

It was the very first drawing she'd done of him, that day she'd intervened in the fight.

25 year old her was immediately critical of the technique and execution, but she had to admit it had been a good effort. Even if it wasn't technically very well done, she'd managed to capture something essentially  _ him _ , romanticised though it was. And it was romantic. She'd drawn an idealised Lucas, the one that had caused her to nearly swoon outside the school, the boy with the beak of a nose that had just happened to put his profile against the sun at the perfect moment and captivated her.

“You made me look so pretty,” he laughed. “I know I never looked that good.”

“But you did to me,” she told him. “That was the point. I thought you were bloody lovely.”

She paused before taking the plunge.

“I still think you are.”

“What?”

He was trying to sound amused, but she could see that little crease she loved forming between his eyebrows and it was still irresistible.

He shook his head.

“That evenin’ up here, when ya drew me….well, it was like that book said. Tale o’ Two Cities. Was the best o’ times and the worst o’ times. Kept me goin’ after you was gone, but kept torturin’ me too, thinkin’ about what could o’ been.”

He put the drawing back in the drawer carefully, almost lovingly.

“And now you're here, all grown up an’ twice as beautiful, and goddam if I don't want another shot at it. But as soon as mornin’ comes, Imma have to get you outta here somehow, cuz if you stay, I don't know what’ll happen to ya. Won't be good, that's for certain. So stop lookin’ at me like that, with those big ole horny eyes, cuz I don't know if I'm strong enough to resist.”

Emily heard a whimper come from her throat at his words, part disappointment, part longing.

He was different now he was older, but still very much Lucas, and she was stupefied at the sudden surge of lust that overtook her.

She wanted to draw him again, capture the new lines, explore his new body with her pencil and her hands, but most of all she wanted to fuck him.

Lucas stood way over by the desk, trying not to look at her.

“Think maybe we should get some sleep,” he muttered. “You can have the couch, I'll take the chair.”

“I can't let you sleep in a chair!” protested Emily.

Lucas shrugged.

“Don't need much sleep anyways, truth be told. I don't mind.”

“Well I do!” retorted Emily. “Look, we can share. It's wide enough. And….I promise I'll keep my hands to myself.”

“Ain't  _ your _ hands I'm worried about….” he said, looking her in the eye.

“Come on, Lucas. Please? I'd feel so guilty I wouldn't be able to sleep.”

He considered for a moment, hands in his pockets, then slowly wandered over to the overhead light switch and turned it off. The room darkened immediately, no outside light coming in, but the glow of the lights winking on his computer provided enough light for her to see his silhouette as he walked over to her.

“Scooch over, then,” he told her.

Trembling with barely suppressed excitement, Emily kicked off her boots and shuffled her ass across the cushions, putting herself in the centre. Lucas climbed on with her, stretching himself out behind her, pressing her arm to urge her to lie down.

She arranged herself on the edge, painfully aware of his body at her back.

“You better move back a little,” he suggested, his mouth near her ear. “Yer gonna fall off.”

Swallowing hard, she obeyed, wiggling back until she was flush with him. His breath stirred the hair against her neck, little wisps drifting against her skin.

His arm crept round her waist, pulling her against him. He sighed.

“This is real cozy,” he said.

“Uh-huh,”said Emily, not trusting herself with real words.

She took off her glasses, folding the arms, and placed them on the floor nearby. As she settled herself, she put her arm over his, her hand laying on his own. He still had those long, almost delicate fingers, and she could feel his knuckles under her palm.

He tightened his arm around her.

“This ain't gonna work….” he muttered.

“It will!” she said hastily.

“Naw. It won't,” he argued, and pressed his lips against the nape of her neck.

“Might o’ known it would be too much……”, he continued, lifting his head to kiss the side of her neck.

Emily moaned, entwining her fingers with his.

He kissed the base of her neck where it joined her shoulder, lingering over the skin there, gently rubbing his parted lips over it.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much…..” he murmured, running his tongue over her collarbone. “Didn't think I'd ever see you again, though.”

Emily twisted herself around, groping for him in the dark. She found his face and ran her fingers over it greedily, his stubble prickling against her skin. She was aware that this might be their only chance, and she didn't intend to waste the opportunity. She rubbed her palm along his jaw, used her thumb to trace the line of his chin.

The arm around her waist moved, grabbing her hip, turning her over onto her back as easily as flipping a cushion. His weight shifted, one knee slotting between her thighs, pushing her legs apart to make room for him.

Taking his lead she spread her thighs further, and he climbed onto her. His hard-on crushed against the seam of her shorts, grinding in, dry-humping.

Emily reached up and threaded her arms around his neck, fingertips sifting through the hair on the back of his head. It was still unbelievably soft.

His mouth sought hers in the dark, missing on the first try, grazing the corner. She turned her head a fraction, and he found her lips this time, stealing her breath as he pried them apart with his tongue.

His hand was worming its way under her top, curving over the sizeable swell of her breast. She felt his palm against the stiff jut of her nipple and groaned, the sound echoing back from him.

“You got so big….” he said, his voice sounding awed.

“Too big,” decided Emily.

“Aw, no….they're great!”

“Shit...let me take it off!” gasped Emily, fumbling for the hem of her top feverishly.

Lucas propped himself up on his hands, watching her in the meagre light as she stripped it off, grappled with the hook of her bra behind her.

Seeing her pale skin glowing in the red hue of the blinking LEDs, he sighed.

“Fuckin’ beautiful…..”

Rising up onto his knees, he shucked off his shirt, and she reached up, sliding her hands over his chest. There was hair on it now, the soft fuzz similar to his 16 year old stubble dusting his pecs. He remained kneeling, allowing her to explore, indulging her thirst. She trailed her fingertips down, skimming his ribs and the cup of his navel, encountering the thicker hair that climbed out of his jeans. She cupped his crotch in her hand, pressing the heel against the pulsing length of his cock.

Moving her hands aside, he sank back down onto her, their naked flesh gliding together. He kissed her throat, thrusting the point of his tongue into the hollow at the bottom before drawing a fatter trail that ran down the centre of her chest. He buried his face between her breasts with a little moan of bliss. She cradled his head in her hands, arching her back as he moved up to pull her nipple into his mouth.

He suckled ravenously, the pull creating a tingling thread that traced its way down past her ribs and into her belly, making her pussy twitch.

She lifted her hips up into him, impatient, and felt him obligingly tug at the button holding her shorts closed. It popped loose, and he transferred his attention to her zip, pulling it down and snagging the waistband with hooked fingers.

There was a brief shuffle as they rearranged their bodies, then Lucas was pulling her shorts down her legs and off her ankles. She heard them hit the floor, the button knocking the wood as he tossed them aside.

He stroked the sodden crotch of her panties, his thumb digging in, before ducking down to push his lips against the front of them, dragging his tongue up the channel between her pussy lips, sucking her juices through the cloth.

Breathing hard, Emily gripped the sofa cushions in clenched fists.

She felt his teeth fasten on the waistband on her underwear, dragging them down, his hands creeping beneath her as she lifted her hips again, cradling her ass in his hands. They got as far as her thighs before he could wait no longer, and his tongue slipped into the narrow crevice between her legs. He lapped at her clit, stroking it with long sweeps. Emily moaned, her head thrust back into the soft depths of the cushions. His stubble grazed her thighs as he put his tongue out further and delved into the gap of her pussy, probing the juicy slit hungrily.

His hands left her ass, and she heard the rattle of his belt buckle.

He squirmed as he tugged his jeans and shorts down, still attempting to go down on her, but his tongue was snatched away by his struggles. There was a clumsy moment in which he nearly toppled off the sofa as he yanked both garments off his ankles, but he recovered nicely, clutching her hip for support, and then he was completely naked on top of her, the silk of his cock sliding against her thighs.

Her panties were still at half-mast, but he rectified that, pushing them down around her knees and scraping them the rest of the way with his foot.

Emily gave a happy sigh as he settled full-length on her, sweeping her hands over his back, the bumps of his spine like braille spelling out her need. 10 years after their first thwarted attempt and he was hers now, for that moment, a grown man who had been through so much but still had the desire of the boy.

Lucas propped himself on his elbows, looking down at her. His eyes were pale, glinting circles in the gloom, focused on her face.

“I know you had a boyfriend…..more than one, prolly, but I don't wanna consider them….but I ain't had nobody since you. You understand?” he said.

Emily nodded. She'd never considered that he wouldn't seek a replacement, or that one wouldn't find him over the years, but the knowledge gave her a pang of mingled sadness for him and gladness for herself. She had been, and still was, special.

“It's kinda embarrassin’,” he went on. “But Imma do my best for you.”

She opened her legs further by way of reply, inviting him.

Lucas took a deep breath, steeling himself, pushing himself up off her briefly. His hard-on lay across her mound, and he pulled his hips back, grabbing his dick by the base and pushing it downwards. It slid past her clit, the tip brushing her deliciously as it passed, and he pressed it against the wet opening of her pussy. His breathing was harsher now, whether from nerves or excitement, and he paused with the head of his cock wavering at the entrance.

“We're really gonna do it,” he marvelled, and slid himself in.

His sharp gasp said everything, and Emily melted beneath him. He was big enough for her to feel every inch of veiny girth as he penetrated her, but not so big it was uncomfortable. He leaned over her, supporting himself on his hands, his face hovering inches above hers.

“Holy fucking shit, that's good,” he groaned.

Emily put her arms round him, unable to speak, biting down on her bottom lip. That first thrust was so good, filling her, sealing them together at the groin. He slid his hips back, a noise like a sob coming from him, stroking the sensitive channel of her pussy, and thrust in again, tentative, holding back.

“You can go harder,” she managed to whisper. “It's okay….”

The next shove followed her suggestion, and she drew in a long breath, clutching at him.

“Like that?” he asked. “That good?”

“Yuh…..”

Appearing to gain confidence, he tried again, sinking even deeper, straining towards the centre of her, picking up the pace slightly. He kissed her as he fucked her, mouth snatching tastes of her between thrusts, his arms trembling at either side.

Emily’s head rolled on her neck, her self-composure falling away as the hard muscle of his abdomen ground at her clit. Lucas snorted, and for a second she thought he'd already cum, but he stayed buried deep in her as he lifted himself up, tucking his knees under him and grasping her hips in a firm grip.

“Wanna get deeper,” he panted. “Want more o’ ya….”

In this new position his dick rammed her harder, but that was just fucking fine. His hands pulled at her, jamming her onto him as he thrust upwards, catching that spot in the awkward angle that felt so good.

It jarred her, making her pussy clench, and Emily raised herself up on her elbows open-mouthed. His body was a pale outline in the dark, but she could see where he joined her, and stared at the glimpses of dick she could see as he pumped it into her.

“Aww, fuck, Emily! Aw, fuck, aw fuck!”

He cursed between gritted teeth, his use of her name a spur for them both. It forced a cry from her throat, her arms giving way and collapsing her onto her back.

Frantic now, Lucas grabbed her legs, lifting them up and spreading her further, opening her completely for his cock to batter. One foot went over the back of the sofa, the other he slung over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss the inside of her knee.

She felt his hand on her belly, palm flat, his thumb grinding into the groove of her lips, pressing her clit and moving in jerky circles. His belly slapped against the back of her thighs, the rhythmic, wet noise of his dick delving into her almost drowned by the fleshy thuds.

Held wide, Emily took him deep, stretched to her limit but feeling all the better for it.

“Lemme hear ya say ma name, Emily,” he begged. “I been wantin’ to hear your voice for so long, say ma name!”

“Lucas!” she wailed, the word sending sparks through long forgotten synapses in her brain, driving out thoughts of everything else.

“Is it good, Emily? Tell me it's good!”

“Oh, it's good Lucas, it's so fucking good….”

He pumped his cock into her faster, his thumb keeping pace, stroking her towards orgasm with unerring certainty.

“Say it again, Emily….I'm cummin’.....”

He hugged her leg to his chest, fingers sinking in deep, ragged groans vibrating through his chest.

“Lucas!” she said, and the swelling buzz in her pussy reached a peak, jerking her hips up, gripping at his cock.

He felt her muscles clasping him, and he came, his prick rocking up into the sweet spot, the pulse of his cum hot as it flooded her.

Lucas spluttered, and she wished she could see his face better, but even though she couldn't she knew that little frown was between his eyebrows and that she'd caused it.

“Oh-h…..oh shit….ohhhhh Emily…….”

Riding the wave of her orgasm, Emily wasn't able to respond, but he slipped her leg to one side and tipped forward over her, sinking down onto her gratefully. His skin was slick with sweat, her hands skidding over it as she clasped him against her. He buried his face in the side of her neck, huffing through the aftershocks.

They stayed wedged together for a time as their breathing and heart-rates returned to normal. Lucas’s dick slowly softened and slid out of her, and Emily felt bereft in its absence.

Lucas finally lifted his head. She could see his teeth gleam white in the darkness as he grinned at her.

“Well that was definitely worth the fucking wait! Sheeit….”

Emily giggled, accepting the lingering kiss he bestowed, but became sombre at the sinking realisation that as good as it had been, she had to leave in the morning. Lucas caught her mood and stroked her hair, fingers parting the snarls and smoothing them out.

“I don't want to leave,” she admitted, and he sighed.

“I don't want ya to, either,” he said. “But if ya stay here, ya might end up dead. I ain't exaggeratin’. C’mon, don't think about it now. We got all night…..”

He kissed her again, tongue lazily exploring her mouth, and she felt his cock twitch against her inner thigh.

“Ya wanna go again?” he asked, nibbling at her earlobe, his voice salacious.

“Oh yes,” replied Emily.

 

By the time morning came, its arrival announced by the red lights of the LED clock on the wall, Emily was exhausted and sore. She'd eventually lost count of the amount of times they'd fucked, each encounter blurring into the next, sometimes with Lucas getting hard again whilst he was still inside her. He still seemed full of energy by the end of it, spooning her one last time as she dozed, barely strong enough to cum.

He dressed as she gazed blearily up at him, donning the dirty clothes from the day before.

“I'm gonna check out the situation over at the house,” he told her. “You get some rest.”

She grunted in response, already half asleep.

He crouched down next to her, brushing strands of hair from her face.

“Imma make sure you're ok,” he told her. “Don't you worry. We'll work somethin’ out.”

He kissed her forehead, and then she was asleep.

 

Lucas shook her awake, gentle but urgent. She was still naked, but he'd tossed a blanket over her at some point. Still groggy, she lifted her head.

“Whu?”

“Listen, Emily, there's been a development. ……” he said.

“Wha’ kin’?” she managed.

Her pussy was raw, but seeing him leaning over her, she almost felt ready for more. She twitched the blanket aside enticingly.

“Awww, baby I can't - not right now,” he told her. “But I'm gonna be busy for a while. We got another visitor! Two in the same amount o’ days, how ‘bout that? Ain't been so busy for years. Anyways, it's Mia's husband,Ethan - he's come ta fetch her, an’ I ain't sure how that's gonna work out. We may have ta leave in a hurry. So get yerself dressed as soon as yer ready, an’ hold tight. I'll be back.”

Lucas left, and Emily tried to process the information he'd given her, but didn't get far before she fell asleep again.

 

There were noises in the building.

Gunshots at first, then explosions.

Emily waited nervously in Lucas’s rooms. She'd searched for food but found only beer, and after a brief internal struggle she'd opened one for breakfast.

She was dressed now, her shorts chafing against her sore crotch, listening to the ominous sounds.

Sometimes after an explosion, she heard what sounded like Lucas’s voice, tinny and amplified as though he was talking through a speaker.

At one point, heavy metal music blasted out, vibrating through the floor, and huge bangs reverberated for a while.

Then there was silence for a long time.

Emily paced, wondering what story the noises she'd heard told - wondering if one of the sounds had signalled Lucas’s demise.

The thought of him being dead was more terrifying than being in the house with Jack and Marguerite yesterday.

Finally, there was a solid boom, more substantial than the explosions that had gone before, and Emily heard rapid footsteps approaching, pounding up the stairs.

Lucas burst into the room. He smelled like smoke and there was a smudge of soot on his cheek, but he was grinning with a sort of crazy cheer.

“Hope yer ready ta go, Emily,” he said as he raced past her. “We gotta get outta here right fuckin’ now!”

“What's going on?” she asked.

Lucas ran into another room, appearing moments later with a bulging backpack.

“Ain't got time to explain, baby,” he said. “But it's just about the best thing that coulda happened. Come on, come with me.”

He grabbed her hand, leading her from the room.

 

There was a hidden door. Emily had never seen one in real life. As far as she was concerned, they were only found in old horror movies and were usually concealed behind a revolving bookcase.

Lucas poked his head through first, to check the coast was clear, then pulled her through.

“Okay, Emily, listen up. This tunnel leads out to the swamp. You follow the path, it'll come out in town, behind the library. Get yer car, and drive to this address.”

He thrust a scrap of paper into her hand, followed by a key.

“I gotta hideout ready an’ waitin’. Got it a while back just in case. Been sittin’ empty a long time. Take this too.”

He handed her a cheap cell phone, the battery fully charged.

“You wait for me there. Soon as I can, I'll call you.”

“Lucas,  _ what is going on? _ ” she wailed.

Lucas sighed.

“Please, Emily - just do what I said. I been plannin’ my escape a long time now - just never figured I'd be escapin’ with someone.”

He grinned, his eyes alight with excitement. Emily could almost see the adrenaline coursing through his system.

“Just go there, an’ wait for me.”

He grabbed her face in his hands, kissing her with fiercely, then thrust her away.

“Now go!”

He pointed along the tunnel, and when she turned to look in that direction, he slammed the door, leaving her alone.

 

With no other choice, Emily did what he'd said. The tunnel did indeed lead to the swamp. The path in the swamp did indeed lead to the library in town.

Feeling as though she were in some kind of dream, she wandered to the school where she had left the car only the day before.

So much had happened since then, she was surprised to find the car in one piece, undisturbed. She almost expected to find it partially submerged like the Statue of Liberty in  _ Planet of the Apes _ , showing that centuries had passed.

There was a smear of bird shit on the windshield, but that was all.

Emily got in and started the engine, typing the address into Google Maps, and drove away.

 

The little house was in the suburbs two towns over, fully furnished but slightly musty.

For two days, Emily waited for news. She bought a charger for the cellphone, and kept it with her at all times, even putting it in a baggie and taking it into the shower with her.

On the third night, at 2am, it rang. Emily picked it up, sweeping her thumb across the screen to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Heeeey, Emily! Come an’ open the door, will ya……” said Lucas.


End file.
